


softly, and with feeling

by laedymoonarchive



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:41:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26264368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laedymoonarchive/pseuds/laedymoonarchive
Summary: --- this is a repost of a fic originally published on my tumblr. i no longer use it and am slowly getting rid of my posts, so everything i've written is being archived here ---prompts:6 * “shouldn’t you be with him/her”8 * “what the hell were you thinking?”19 * “it wasn’t supposed to happen like this”warnings: angst, smut, swearing, alcoholwordcount: 1.7k
Relationships: Gwilym Lee/Reader, Gwilym Lee/You
Kudos: 3





	softly, and with feeling

**Author's Note:**

> \--- this is a repost of a fic originally published on my tumblr. i no longer use it and am slowly getting rid of my posts, so everything i've written is being archived here ---
> 
> prompts:  
> 6 * “shouldn’t you be with him/her”  
> 8 * “what the hell were you thinking?”  
> 19 * “it wasn’t supposed to happen like this”
> 
> warnings: angst, smut, swearing, alcohol
> 
> wordcount: 1.7k

perhaps flirting with ben is a shitty thing to do.

perhaps doing it in front of your mutual best mate is shittier still.

and perhaps orchestrating the whole thing without his knowledge is the shittiest thing of all.

and yet, here you are, your leg slung over ben’s lap, your hand pressed to his chest, your lips brushing the shell of his ear. perhaps you’re a shitty person.

but you’d really hadn’t set out to be malicious; it hadn’t even been your idea. you’d been perfectly happy to keep pathetically pining for your stubbled, sharp jawed, gently spoken friend before ben intervened. he’d suggested the whole charade as you’d been getting ready to head over to gwil’s for a party, an event to celebrate the wrapping of his latest project.

usually you’d be there with him, pouring out flutes of champagne and assuring him that the suit he’d picked out complimented his eyes just fine.

but being around gwilym lately just made you sad. positively melancholic. so you’d made other plans.

“flirt with me tonight.” ben had said while you poured out shots. “when he’s looking.”

“what on earth are you on about?”

“gwilym. i love the bloke to bits but he’s about as observant as he is subtle.”

you’d thought you’d been being discreet with your prolonged gazes and flushed cheeks, but you evidently had not.

“i know how you feel about him, love. get him to take notice as well.”

it had all seemed very simple. gwilym would see you flirting with ben, be overcome by jealousy and wanting, and sweep you off your feet. and if he really didn’t reciprocate your feelings, at least you would get to spend a little time perched on the lap of a not at all unattractive blonde, who’s always good for a laugh. wishful fuckin thinking.

“he’s watching.” ben informs you now.

your cheeks flush hot, and suddenly the whole idea seems utterly ridiculous. “fuck, what do i do?”

“i don’t know.”

“this was your plan!” you slap ben’s chest.

“i don’t really think things through, to be honest.” ben says, and you grin a little at his candor. “that’s good! laugh.”

you obey, throwing your head back slightly in an exaggerated giggle. ben laces his fingers around your wrist and pulls you back towards him, his eyes drifting over your shoulder.

“shit.” he says.

“what?”

“he’s leaving.”

you swivel around in ben’s lap sharply, only to see gwilym’s dark head disappearing down the blocked off hallway.

“god, what’s he doing? it’s his fucking party.” you mumble.

“go after him.” ben pushes you off his lap and you oblige, weaving through the crowd of people to follow him.

“gwil!” you call. he doesn’t turn.

“gwil! gwilym, you tosser. what’re you doing?” you catch up with him as he throws open the door to his bedroom.

he turns on you sharply, slamming the door shut behind you. “ **shouldn’t you be** out there, **with him?** ” his tone is harsh and accusatory.

 _and fucking justified_ , you remind yourself.

“who?” you say meekly, though you know full well that gwilym’s referring to the man in who’s lap you were just perched.

“ _ben_.” he practically spits.

“gwil, i don’t…” you trail off, unsure of what you can possibly say, that won’t reveal the entire, stupid truth. gwilym looks at you searchingly, and when you don’t say anything more, he turns away from you again. “just go.”

“ _shit_.” you mutter. “christ, **it wasn’t supposed to happen like this.** ”

“what?” he faces you again.

“you.” you say softly. “and me.”

“you and me? best mates, yeah? is that what i’m supposed to think when you turn up with ben and barely say a bloody word to me, just sit in the corner draped all over him?” gwilym’s angrier than you’ve seen him before. usually the consistent calm of his voice, even when you’re fighting, pisses you off. now you miss it. wish it would replace the unfamiliar edge, the crackling waver. “i mean, christ y/n, **what the hell were you thinking?** ”

“i don’t know. i don’t fucking know, alright? i just-i can’t be around you.” _fuck off tears_ , you plead, willing away the flood that’s threatening to spill down your cheeks.

“why? what have i bloody done to you, y/n?”

_he really has no fucking clue, does he?_

the tears you’ve just blinked away come back with a vengeance, and it’s no use trying to stop them. you push the heels of your palms into your eyes and sob - a shoulders shaking, mascara running, purging everything inside of you kind of cry.

strong arms wrap around you, gwilym’s chin coming to rest atop your head. he strokes the back of your head with one hand, and your back with the other, rocking every so slightly.

he’s so kind. so gentle, even when you don’t deserve anything of the sort. and makes you feel even shittier than you already do.

“sorry.” you say when your sobs dissipate and you’re able to speak somewhat normally.

gwilym just waves his hand dismissively. “could you just tell me what on earth is going on with you?”

“i can’t.” you shake your head and look into his chest, at the black streaks you’ve left on his white shirt.

“why?” gwilym sounds just as sad as you do. defeated, almost.

you exhale shakily. there’s no way you could possibly say something as cliche as “i’m in love with you” without wanting to melt into the ground almost immediately. but you can’t keep bullshitting him. he doesn’t deserve it.

“because you don’t feel the same way.”

its quiet for a beat too long after you speak. your brain kicks into panic mode, over analysing and criticising and getting ready to ramble your way out of the situation, until a long, elegant finger brushes your chin. it tilts your face upwards, a pair of soft, pink lips connecting with yours.

gwilym’s stubble grazes your chin but christ, he’s good at this, and he kisses like he talks. gently and softly but with undeniable passion. the kiss is so lovely, in fact, that you don’t even process the enormity of it. that your feelings have finally, finally been reciprocated.

it deepens quickly, becoming less tentative and more heated by the second. you thread your fingers through gwilym’s hair and both of his hands drift downwards, hoisting you up so you can wrap your legs around his waist. it’s wordless as he pins you against the wall, the only sounds the muffled music from the ongoing party and the two of you moving against each other.

gwilym peppers your tear trails with kisses and makes his way down to your chest, bridging between your collar bones with wet stamps of his lips. you undo his belt and toss it to the side, leaving him to finish the job while you pull your shirt over your head. it’s no more than you’ve already seen, being far too close to have not walked in on each other at the wrong moment a handful of times.

but you’re still slack jawed at the sight of gwilym’s bare, muscular chest, and his expression mirrors yours as he takes in your lacy bra. you fall back into each other, a tangle of shallow, hot breaths fanning over bare skin and hands reaching between your bodies.

you unhook your bra with one hand while the other reaches for gwilym’s hardening cock. you pull it free from it’s restraints, and gwilym speaks for the first time as you give it an experimental pump.

“ _christ_.” he mutters. gwilym circles your bare breasts with a large, rough hand, his cock hardening in your grip. he lets his other hand drop to the hem of your skirt and find its way underneath, twisting your pants to the side.

you stroke him once more as one of his long fingers sinks into you, curling as a result of your teasing. gwilym seems to have an idea in his head, and one you’ve never tried before. but you’re willing, and so you swipe your finger over his tip and begin to pump your hand, and gwilym does the same.

everytime he curls his fingers, your grip around him tightens. and everytime your grip tightens, he pumps into you harder and faster and you do the same. you feed each other with your desperately rutting hips and whimpering moans, chasing your highs on each other’s hands.

gwil brings his thumb to press mercilessly at your clit and you find yours with a whimper, your legs shaking and your eyes fluttering closed as you cum all over gwilym’s fingers.

“that’s it love.” he speaks softly. “give me somethin’ to taste.”

when you’ve given him everything, gwilym brings his glistening finger between his lips and sucks it clean. you whine at the obscene noise of his tongue lapping your arousal, and speed up your pumps of gwilym’s cock in an attempt to return the favour.

he drops his head onto your shoulder, his hands once again gripping the underside of your thighs to hold you up around his waist. with a couple more thrusts, gwilym’s moans become stuttered and his hips snap erratically.

you slip out from his grip and slide to your knees so you can eagerly nudge your tongue at gwilym’s tip, showing him where to finish. the sight of you kneeled before him, your mouth wide open and waiting for his cock is all gwilym needs to reel over the edge. he finishes with grunts of your name, spilling onto your waiting tongue.

you swallow everything he gives you, running your tongue over your lips when you’re finished.

“jesus fucking christ.” gwilym pants. he pulls you slowly to your feet again.

“did we really just do that?” you say.

gwilym nods with a grin, pressing a slightly more chaste kiss to your lips.

you bend down to retrieve your bra, and gwilym pulls his trousers back up from where they pooled around his ankles.

just as you’re readjusting his belt buckle, the door opens slightly.

“shit, sorry.” ben murmers, going to retreat before he realises who’s standing before him.

“fuckin blimey.” his eyes widen as realisation dawns. “does this mean that my plan actually worked?”


End file.
